


With the World

by GalaxyAqua



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: 'hang on are you flirting with me', 'have been for the past two years thanks for noticing', Confessions, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Domestic, M/M, Mutual Pining, Travel, rantaro gaydhd icon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22433938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyAqua/pseuds/GalaxyAqua
Summary: They’ve been travelling on and off together ever since they both graduated from the Academy, and they’ve got a rhythm between them that makes sense. Rantaro doesn’t always connect with people like that. He keeps his distance. He has to.But somewhere along the line, Kiyo has become his closest friend. Travelling together, experiencing things together, it’s all been parts of his journey he wouldn’t trade for anything.Isn’t it only normal to want to spend more time with his best friend?
Relationships: Amami Rantaro/Shinguji Korekiyo
Comments: 24
Kudos: 196





	With the World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deadinside_dot_com](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadinside_dot_com/gifts).



> just a note to my dear giftee, I said I would write your suggestion a few months ago and here it is :') hope you enjoy and thank you for making my day brighter!

The words on the page don’t seem to stick.

Rantaro knew that he was the one that wrote them, scribbling down all the little details that he knew he had to remember — but looking back over them is proving to be a struggle he hadn’t anticipated.

He has to focus. Things are different when he isn’t travelling solo. He can’t just put a giant question mark in the middle of the page and hope for the best. Not when their time is limited. Every hour counts.

(He has to drop Kiyo off in Québec in two weeks, so he can’t get used to this. Can’t get used to someone backing up his plans and reviewing his schedule and offering suggestions and imploring him to actually read the road signs, ensuring he doesn’t go tumbling headfirst into trouble. Can’t get used to having someone around.

They’re only travelling together out of convenience, and Rantaro promised he wouldn’t slow him down. That’s why it’s so important he gets this right.)

He’s never gonna get it perfect, yeah, but he told Kiyo he would handle it so here he is, handling it. He chews on the end of his pen absentmindedly. Why isn’t anything sticking? The stuff he needs is all there, he just can’t connect the dots. It makes him feel useless. It’s just an itinerary. It’s not that hard. He’s written hundreds of these before.

He underlines a few words to try and kick his brain back into processing things.

He’s trying but he still can’t seem to pay enough attention for it to matter, and he feels Kiyo lean over his shoulder, long hair falling soft between them.

It isn’t helping.

He wants to slide his fingers through it, that dark and gentle cascade. The faint scent of jasmine lingers near him, and he can already tell Kiyo doesn’t use the hotel shampoo — that stuff smells of cheap oranges, and nothing nearly as sweet and pleasant. He takes good care of his hair. That part about Kiyo has always been consistent, at least.

“Are you going over the itinerary for tomorrow?” He asks in a dulcet, curious tone.

Rantaro smiles like he hasn’t been too scattered to fully concentrate. “Gettin’ through it. Don’t think I’ll have to make many changes unless the weather acts up, though. You know what the weather forecast is like?”

“It appears to be mild, last I checked. Cloudy, with a low chance of rain,” Kiyo nods, reaching out to smooth out the page with his finger. It’s like he knows what a distraction he is. At this proximity, Rantaro can hardly pay attention to anything else. “You’re good at putting these together. My itineraries often require many revisions and extensive hours of research… yours seem to flow so naturally.”

“I like keeping ‘em simple,” he shrugs, and as Kiyo leans in further to take a better look, his hair is close enough to tickle Rantaro’s cheek. He suppresses the giggle threatening to spill, not wanting to have _ticklish_ written on his records. He’s supposed to be cool about things like that. Kiyo would have revelled in knowing it. “You know, more time for fun little detours! There’s a lot to discover that you can’t plan ahead for, and it’s amazing what you can find off the beaten track…” He turns to look at him properly, before another thought flies into his mind, knocking his train of thought off track. “Wait, are you wearing my shirt?”

Kiyo looks at him and then looks down, and then looks at him again. The print of it — it’s just a picture of a sandwich on a backdrop of ocean waves— is so unlike something Kiyo would ordinarily wear that the longer Rantaro takes it in, the more the comic flutter of delight patters in his chest.

Disinterested at the realization, Kiyo goes back to reading the itinerary. “I suppose I am. My apologies, it must have gotten mixed up in the laundry the other day. I will return it to you after the next wash.”

“You didn’t notice?” He can’t help but laugh.

“Admittedly, it hadn’t crossed my mind. I suspect our belongings have been mingling for a while now…” There’s a hint of amusement in Kiyo’s voice as he gestures to the notebook in Rantaro’s lap. “That’s mine, you know.”

Rantaro blinks down at it. Turns it around. Turns it back again.

It takes a few seconds to register.

“Oh.” He says. “Oh, it is. Crap, when did I steal it? Sorry, I didn’t even notice.”

Kiyo chuckles, his hand light as it traces the slope of Rantaro’s shoulder, landing at his elbow and then his wrist as he guides him to turn the page. “It’s quite alright. I have many notebooks… a vast collection, in fact. One might say too many notebooks, but there is no such thing, of course. Regardless, I have no qualms in giving this one to you as a gift.”

“What a generous donation from the notebook hoarder,” Rantaro remarks fondly, saying it like it is. He shakes his head. “But I can’t just accept this, Kiyo. I’ll get you a new one tomorrow, yeah?”

Kiyo seems even further amused by the sentiment, raising a single arched eyebrow. “Ah, you’ll add to my collection? How wonderful. I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”

“Wow, is that my value as a person?” Rantaro smiles even as he says this, sure to be clear he’s only joking. He then crosses his arms, doing his best to look tough and unswayable. “Fine, no notebook for you then. You don’t need any more notebooks anyway.”

“You can’t retract your offer now, or I fear I shall not be able to go on for much longer…” Kiyo laments, falling against him, though he’s clearly just being dramatic. He always is. Rife with drama and struck by the intensity of his own emotions. “I am afraid you will break my frail and tender heart.”

“Your frail and tender heart will be fine, it’s been through worse.” With a bit of cheek, he grins again, putting a hand over Kiyo’s heart, giving it an encouraging pat. “You’ve got this, Kiyo! I believe in you!”

“Rantaro,” Kiyo mumbles against his shoulder, closing his eyes. “You are going to be the death of me.”

“Haha, why? ‘Cause I won’t buy you a notebook?”

“Among other things.”

“You know I’m gonna buy it, silly,” he pats Kiyo on the head. He gets half-heartedly swatted at. “I was just teasing you.”

“You will tease until the end of the earth and then some,” he murmurs.

“Maybe so,” Rantaro seizes the opportunity to run his hand through Kiyo’s hair, and it’s just as smooth and silky as he thought it would be. It’s not his first time doing it but he has to marvel at how well maintained it is. His own is much shorter and he forgets to even brush it most days. Kiyo doesn’t swat him this time, leaning into his touch instead. Rantaro smiles. “You smell nice.”

“I try.” He replies.

He’s starting to look sleepy, so Rantaro keeps carding his fingers through his hair, eyes flicking over to check the time. Kiyo usually sleeps earlier than him, and he makes sure he does too. He’s good at little reminders like that. Doesn’t wonder how Kiyo usually does it without him.

(Two weeks doesn’t feel like enough time.

Rantaro tries not to think about it, but it keeps coming back.

They’ve been travelling on and off together ever since they both graduated from the Academy, and they’ve got a rhythm between them that makes sense. Rantaro doesn’t always connect with people like that. He keeps his distance. He has to.

But somewhere along the line, Kiyo has become his closest friend. Travelling together, experiencing things together, it’s all been parts of his journey he wouldn’t trade for anything.

Isn’t it only normal to want to spend more time with his best friend? He doesn’t think about it. They’ve never talked about it.

It’s always been one city to the next, together when it’s convenient, alone when it isn’t. One city to the next, until they do it over again somewhere else.

And then what?)

“I’m glad you do,” Rantaro says, not really knowing what he’s glad about but feeling it appropriate to say. “Happy for you.”

Kiyo doesn’t seem to know what he’s glad about either, but nevertheless accepts the statement. He’s gone enough, comforted by the hand in his hair and the exhaustion settling in, not to get caught up with it. “Thank you.”

“You look good in that shirt, y’know.” Rantaro tells him, because it’s true and he’s thinking about it. Kiyo does look good, it’s the honest truth, it being loose and comfortable on him, slipping off his shoulder ever so slightly. It’s just a shirt and Rantaro has many, so he says, “You should keep it.”

“As payment for the notebook?” He chuckles. He seizes the hem, playing idly with it as he considers the idea. “To that, I must say, “What a convenient exchange…”, being that there is no need to physically exchange anything.” He glances up at Rantaro again. “Well, let’s call it a trade, then. I’m not at all unsatisfied by this.”

“You like it?”

“I enjoy the feeling of it,” Kiyo answers. It’s an oddly warm sentiment coming from him. “This shirt, I mean… it being yours seems to give it a certain sense of friendliness.”

“That’s the secret!” Rantaro whispers, pressing a finger to his mouth and putting on his best secret-keeping conspiracy-spinning voice. “I’m only nice because my clothes are.”

Kiyo stares at him for that, before something almost definitely akin to a grin graces the face beneath the mask. “That doesn’t even remotely make sense. What an absurd idea… to be equipped with clothes that increase your friendliness? What material would constitute a shirt being more friendly than another one? Would the effects be universal? Surely, you wouldn’t have been marked as a suspicious person so many times if your clothes gave you such abilities, yes? I’m afraid the hidden power of your clothing is ineffective against such things.”

“I’m— they’re friendly clothes, not anti-suspicion clothes,” Rantaro huffs, and he can’t stop the smile that’s threatening to break his pretend annoyance. His mouth pulls into a pout to hide it. “And for the record, you’re way more suspicious than I am.”

“Oh, my apologies, I was not aware that there were clothes that negated suspicion as well. In a category of their own, no less! How fascinating…” He seems to find contemplating this funny and Rantaro’s just glad that he’s having fun. “Kehehe, on that note, you are correct, of course. A great many do find me rather suspicious… but you know I wear that as an honor, Rantaro. I enjoy all of humanity, including their judgements, of which I am well accustomed to. I suppose allaying suspicion is wishful thinking solely for you, is it not?”

“Uh. What do you mean?”

“Well, first of all, you are inherently a suspicious individual… alright, don’t give me that look, I’m not finished yet,” there’s a smugness to his tone that makes Rantaro not want to let him finish but he’s polite so he just lets it happen. “And to seek clothes that will remove suspicion from your person… that in itself is suspicious, don’t you think? You simply cannot help it. You are born suspicious. There is no other explanation.”

Rantaro shoves him – lightly, of course, he’s only playing – and Kiyo falls onto the bed, looking entirely too proud of himself.

“I’ll steal more notebooks from you,” Rantaro warns, partially because he knows Kiyo is messing with him, partially because he knows it will spur Kiyo into another dramatic sprawl across the covers regardless.

“Such cruelty!” Kiyo says, looking momentarily appalled. “I suppose I’ll have to make do with nabbing the rest of your wardrobe, then. What a life I must endure…” He lingers there for a moment, before reaching an epiphany. “Perhaps I’ll be a Rantaro Amami impersonator, then. I could make a living out of that.”

“Pfft, you really think you could pull that off?” Rantaro snickers at this. “You couldn’t act like me to save your life.”

“Yes I could,” he replies innocently. “All I’d have to do is go around stealing people’s notebooks and pushing them into beds.”

“Now, hang on a minute, I didn’t push you that hard! You just made yourself fall so it would be more dramatic.”

“I would do no such thing.” Kiyo says. “I cannot believe this denial. Your brute strength has felled me. My weak constitution and fragile appendages adhered to it have been struck down by your senseless violence and sheer force of will.”

“Okay, first of all, there is _no_ need for that, and second of all… if we’re gonna be perfectly fair here, you’re not very hard to knock over.” Rantaro says very sternly before he succumbs to the ridiculous mess of his dramatics and laughs harder. “But anyway, I didn’t push you! You can’t put all those words together to accuse me of something I didn’t do!”

“That is exactly what someone who pushed me would say.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He flicks him in the head. Kiyo’s nose scrunches adorably and his eyes screw shut. For a moment, it seems like he would stay that way, but his expression eases soon enough, and he goes back to a half-lidded sleepiness that Rantaro thinks should mean that he really has to go to bed soon. “You’re so silly.”

“You’re the one who’s silly.” Kiyo replies. “I am being very serious right now, Rantaro. There is no measure for how serious I am.”

“I’m sure there isn’t.” He replies fondly, reaching forward to poke him in the cheek. “But anyway, it’s getting late for you, Kiyo… you should get some rest. You wake up pretty early.”

“Rising to witness the sunrise is a beautiful affair in which I am honored to partake in,” Kiyo replies with a nod. His eyelashes flutter as he stares wistfully out the window on the other side of the room. There is nothing to see. It’s completely dark outside. “It is such a peaceful sight, to see the world as it wakes… don’t you agree?”

“It’s kinda majestic, yeah.” Rantaro gently tucks his hair behind his ear. “I prefer sunsets though. There’s something exciting about them.”

“Something exciting?” Kiyo seems to smile behind his mask. He slowly peels himself off of Rantaro’s bed, and rises to his feet with a slight sway to his movements, cupping his hand over his mouth as if he had been yawning. “Well, I would love to hear more on that tomorrow. Perhaps we can find a place to watch the sunset together and you can tell me more about it.”

Rantaro grins, “Go to bed before you fall over, sleepyhead.”

“My goodness,” Kiyo says, catching sight of the clock on the bedside table. “It’s that time already?

“Told you it was getting late. You get more and more ridiculous the more tired you are.”

“I’m always like this,” Kiyo declares before he stumbles into the table at the foot of their beds. He picks himself up again like nothing happened. “I implore you to get some rest as well.” Kiyo tells him. “Preferably soon.”

“Will do, thanks,” Rantaro says and turns off every light except the reading lamp, which he uses to flick through his itinerary.

Focus, he tells himself, and doesn’t think about how peaceful Kiyo looks when he’s fallen asleep — how nice it is that he _can_ look so at peace.

Focus, he tells himself, and doesn’t think about how close he had been, the scent of jasmine tickling his cheek, and how easy it was to forget this was only temporary.

* * *

“Rantaro,” he hears his name ring softly as he slowly opens his eyes. “Are you awake?”

“I am now,” Rantaro replies groggily. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep. He angles himself to face Kiyo, who is elegantly poised on the other bed, already half dressed for the day. He’s in a sleek, black dress shirt with dark wash jeans. “What’s up?”

“It’s almost sunrise,” Kiyo tells him, deft fingers buttoning the cufflinks on his shirt. “I’ll be heading up to the rooftop garden to see it. Would you like to accompany me?”

“You’re dressing up so fancy for the sunrise,” he remarks, gesturing at him lazily. “Sure it’s not some celestial lover? I don’t wanna intrude on your date.”

Kiyo doesn’t hesitate with his response. “You are ridiculous. The sunrise and I are _not_ dating.”

“Oh? Who broke up with who?”

“We were never dating in the first place.”

“You broke the sun’s heart. How dare you, Kiyo!”

“The sun doesn’t have a heart.”

“Ouch,” Rantaro says, feigning hurt. “Now that’s just mean.”

“No, it physically does not have a heart, Rantaro, it’s the _sun_ ,” Kiyo replies, tracing the shape of a circle in the air. “It’s a star, so it is made up of a mix of gases and plasma… there is no place to put a heart in there, only in figurative speech, I suppose. Even so, implying that it has a heart that can be torn down emotionally…”

“Haha, come on, I know what the sun is,” he grins, waving him off. “So maybe you’ve broken its figurative heart. You never know.”

“While we could continue this, I must direct us back on the topic at hand,” Kiyo reminds him, clasping and locking a leather belt around his waist. It clinks in the otherwise quiet air. “Would you like to come with me or not?”

“Oh, yeah,” Rantaro stretches languidly across the bed, as if considering it, but it’s not like he’s about to refuse now that he’s awake. “Sure, I’ll come.”

“Get dressed, then.” Kiyo says. As an aside, he adds, “And don’t wear that blue hamburger shirt again. You’ve worn that every day for a week.”

“Didn’t think anyone was paying attention,” Rantaro tells him.

“I observe details when I can, and I see you in the same outfit all the time, that is all,” Kiyo replies promptly. He moves to the mirror on the desk and plants himself by it, eyeliner in hand. The way Kiyo applies makeup is always very cool — his hands shake if he overthinks anything so he’s mastered the art of lining with a single stroke and tidying up the edges after. Very cool. “Just get dressed before I dress you myself.”

“That’s a funny-sounding threat,” Rantaro mutters, before making a very graceful roll and tumble off the bed. “Alright, alright, I’m getting up.”

* * *

Rantaro does end up making a bit of an effort.

He’s fast at that ‘making an effort’ look, anyway, considering making _any_ effort is better than his usual gig — where he just ruffles his hair, puts the same outfit on, spends ten minutes putting in all his jewelry, five minutes on some poor excuse of makeup ‘cause he’s just like, a little self-conscious, and away he goes.

Kiyo doesn’t say anything until they leave the room, seeming to be doing some mental arithmetic in his mind or whatever it was that Kiyo did when he seemed deep in thought.

“I didn’t know you owned that shirt,” he murmurs.

Rantaro shrugs. It’s one of his nicer shirts, a patterned navy button-up that cuffed at the elbows (sadly, no sandwiches on this shirt), but he figured if Kiyo was going to walk around looking so well-kept all the time, he could pull himself together every now and then as well.

“Like you said, I always wear the same one.”

“Well, you should definitely consider wearing more variations,” he replies, voice still in a low, crawling tone. “I think this one suits you.”

“Aw,” Rantaro can’t help but blush at that, because how can he help it? He likes looking nice, even if it wasn’t his intention to be complimented for it. “Thanks, Kiyo. All jokes aside, I do like your outfit, too. You clean up nicely! I think it’s great that you put work into your appearance.”

(He’s on such a roll that he almost lets it slip that he thinks Kiyo is pretty regardless, but he bites his tongue. He doesn’t want to overdo it.)

Kiyo pauses for a moment, before ducking his head. “Thank you.” He leads Rantaro towards the rooftop after they exit the elevator. Rantaro turns to climb the stairs, but Kiyo catches him by the arm. “Ah, hold on a moment. Allow me to guide you elsewhere. There is another route up, and I made a booking for us to have breakfast in the restaurant as well. It’s a glass house on the roof, you see, we can see the sunrise from there.”

“Wait, hang on, you what?”

“I made a booking,” Kiyo replies, glancing at him almost tentatively. “I hope that’s alright with you. I should’ve asked beforehand, but it was a last minute decision, do forgive me.”

“I mean, hey,” Rantaro shrugs and shoots him a smile in hopes it will soothe the nervous energy that seems to be building around him. He entertains the idea that it’s kind of like a date, but that’s just a silly thought, obviously. “You’re buying me food, so I’m not complaining. That’s actually really sweet of you!”

“Well…” Kiyo looks away. “You have been so kind to accompany me to so many places, I only wish to return the favor every now and then. That, and I noticed you tend to leave the mornings of your itineraries quite open… it was only a natural course of action, yes?”

“I guess so,” he replies. “Then I’m in your hands for the time being.”

“Y- yes, of course,” Kiyo says. At the last moment, as if he had been contemplating whether or not to ask, he extends his hand towards Rantaro, offering for him to take it. “Shall we?”

* * *

The sunrise is incredible.

No, really. Rantaro has seen a lot of sunrises (okay, that’s partially a lie, he hates getting up early but he will when Kiyo asks, he can’t really ever say no even if Kokichi tells him he’s a massive pushover because of it) but there’s something about seeing it from a glass house above the city skyline that makes it _magical._

They stop eating at the first sign of light over the horizon, and Rantaro thinks it might be silly of him to get so excited when it’s just the sun, but he can’t help it.

“It’s there!” He exclaims. “It’s coming!”

“Yes,” Kiyo remarks, with that smug curl of his tone that means he’s going to be a smartass about something. “The sun rises every day, Rantaro, I thought you knew this.”

“Hey.” Rantaro wrinkles his nose and frowns his way, shaking a disapproving finger at him. “You know what I mean.”

The little laugh it draws out from Kiyo is so worth it. “Yes, but I couldn’t resist. Your reactions are so cute.”

That makes Rantaro smile. Even if he wants to pretend he’s still mad, he can’t help it. It’s like all his edges soften when Kiyo smiles right back at him, the sunrise alight in his eyes.

(He wants to keep doing this.

Keep doing things like this again and again, where he takes Kiyo places and Kiyo takes him places and they just spend time together, but it almost feels selfish to ask.

Can you be best friends with someone for two years and still not know where you stand?)

Rantaro watches the sun rise in Kiyo’s eyes and there is so much gold. In the flecks of his irises and the way the light hits his face, it’s all warm and bright.

* * *

Most of the day goes according to plan.

After such a great start, Rantaro’s pumped to get going and Kiyo certainly isn’t lacking in enthusiasm even if he isn’t buzzing around like Rantaro is, the adventurer eager to take photos of everything that catches his eye.

Instead, Kiyo walks after him with a notebook in hand, jotting down things as they explore the morning market — on occasion, he’ll ask Rantaro to take a picture of something for him, and Rantaro will always agree only if he gets to take a photo of Kiyo as well.

Kiyo isn’t camera shy, though he’s a little awkward about the whole picture thing, so they usually compromise and take a photo together. Rantaro has stopped posting them online, if only because their old classmates will jump on the chance to make dumb comments on the pictures, and he doesn’t want to make Kiyo any more uncomfortable with the concept of social media.

(Kiyo never understood social media, and the most he ever got up to was starting unnecessary debates in the comment sections, which he got so invested in that he would write an essay worth of a response.

After breaching the character limit several times on every social platform they tried, Rantaro decided that it wasn’t Kiyo’s scene and Kiyo had agreed. Nowadays, if Kiyo needs to use the socials for anything, it’s usually just to look up the meaning behind something Kokichi or Miu say in their class discussion chat.

Rantaro doesn’t stop him, but he knows that Kiyo almost always seems to regret that decision.

“Rantaro,” he’d say. “I’m abandoning all hope in technology. I am going to go without it. Tell them all if anyone needs to contact me, they must send a letter via pigeon mail. That is the only form of communication I accept.”

“Again?” Rantaro would ask, amused. “Alright, if you say so.”

Sure enough, Kiyo would be back online a few days later, reporting his field observations to the chat, to which he would proceed to get completely and utterly dragged and pulled into jokes by the rest of them.

Rantaro thinks it’s nice that they can all get along, despite all their differences back in school.)

“We should take a photo with the statue,” Kiyo suggests, clearly excited about the monument he had found. Rantaro thinks it’s sweet that he finds enjoyment out of such things.

“Sure! Let’s do it,” Rantaro loops an arm around his shoulders and angles his phone to net both of them into the frame. Cheekily, he says, “Smile, Kiyo.”

Kiyo sighs. Even if he did smile, it’d be so subtle behind the mask that the camera wouldn’t see it anyway. “Just take the photo.”

Rantaro grins at him, considering on a stray thought that it’d be pretty funny if he could catch him off-guard and captured that expression, so he sort of just goes for it.

He kisses him on the cheek and snaps the photo, Kiyo blinking in surprise.

Rantaro pulls his phone back to him, pretending nothing happened, while Kiyo stares into that empty space unblinkingly for a few seconds before looking at him.

“Rantaro…” he starts, uncertainly, as though he isn’t actually sure where his sentence is going.

(And Rantaro can’t deny he’s freaking out just a little bit, because what if that was _too much_ , what if their friendship isn’t close enough for cheek kisses yet, what if Kiyo is offended, or annoyed that he had snuck that on him in the last second, he should have asked, stupid impulse, stupidly cute best friend—)

“Yeah?” 

“Send that photo to me,” Kiyo decides to say, instead of something more poignant. Well, maybe that’s poignant enough. Rantaro doesn’t want to ride on false hope for anything.

He’s lived a lifetime knowing things don’t just work out that way.

(Okay, but what _if_ that means Kiyo doesn't mind, does that mean he can just kiss him on the cheek whenever? Is he supposed to ask about these things? But who asks about cheek kisses anyway, in some countries they're just greetings, so what if Rantaro just pretends he's European or something- wait, that doesn't even make sense, Kiyo already knows he's not European, but what _if_ —)

Rantaro just smiles, and flicks it off into his messages. “Sent!”

* * *

After the market, they hit the line of museums in the city centre, then they take the train to see the lake at Rantaro’s insistence.

There’s something about lakes that he really likes, maybe the glistening water or maybe the fact that it’s like a little piece of the ocean that’s been taken inland – and okay, he really likes the ocean, too. Seeing the water calms him down a lot. Not that he was really freaking out, because Rantaro's a chill guy, it's just that moments of weakness happen to everyone. 

Kiyo doesn’t complain, never does when he’s dragged along, but it’s not like he has a moment _to_ complain when he’s too busy riding the high of the information overload that the museums had dosed him with. Rantaro listens, because honestly, he throws in that many museum visits because he knows Kiyo will ascend in all aspects but physical, and it’s nice to have something to listen to while they take a hike.

(He just likes seeing Kiyo happy. There’s a lightness about him that only shows when he gets to ramble about his interest of the day, and Rantaro positively lives for it.

Part of him wonders how he does without it when he’s alone, too. Travelling by himself feels so much lonelier after trips like these.

He shakes his head. No use feeling sorry for himself now. He had a moment to live in. Memories to make.)

This particular lake is surrounded by mountains, so Rantaro practically bounces up the footpath in his excitement and buys all the food he can stuff into his backpack before they start their trek upwards.

Kiyo’s pen is practically glued to his notebook as he talks, taking down his field observations even though there’s no-one else around. Rantaro does catch him looking at him sometimes, but he’s always quick to look distracted by a tree or a flower, so Rantaro just shrugs and leaves him be.

Even if Kiyo _is_ writing about him, it’s not really any of his business to ask. He just hopes he’s not tallying the times he touches something he shouldn’t or says something stupid out loud because he feels so at ease out here, among the elements. In his element.

It’s a peaceful walk, which is what they both like best, and soon enough, even Kiyo’s chatter dies down as he takes in the beauty of their surroundings.

A peaceful walk until it rains, that is.

* * *

By rain, of course, it means it’s sunny one moment and pouring buckets the next.

“Low chance of rain my ass!” Rantaro exclaims as they’re sprinting down the walkway. The rain starts pelting them harder, as if hearing his words, and Kiyo grimaces.

“It certainly is coming down.” He's started to shiver, and Rantaro gives him a quick hug just to check his temperature (okay, he's running out of excuses, but it's still partially true) and Kiyo doesn't seem to mind beyond the curt cough he gives and the flush of his skin that Rantaro really hopes isn't the beginning of a fever. He lets him go to press the back of his hand against his forehead, but Kiyo bats his hand away. “There's no need to worry. I won't get sick so easily.”

“Come on then," he encourages him along anyway, “Let’s hurry back!”

Rantaro grabs hold of his hand as they make their run down, trying not to splash in too many puddles but he’s moving too fast to really notice.

Kiyo seems to tense, his grip tightening around Rantaro’s hand as he leaps over a particularly long strip of water, and Rantaro has to catch him before he slips too far forward.

He doesn’t seem to be a fan of the puddles, and steps gingerly through the next string of them, even though there’s not a chance they’re getting out dry after this.

He sympathizes with his friend a little. The bandages that wrap around the expanse of his arms must feel terrible in the rain, not to mention the water must be making the mask uncomfortable to wear. Kiyo's not really made for wet weather, and never seems to dress for it, either.

After feeling him shaking again, Rantaro decides to shrug out of his shirt and wrap Kiyo up in it to at least keep his head out of the water. He's got another shirt underneath, so it's fine, and it is kinda funny to see Kiyo's head wrapped up as well, tied up with a bow. Soon, all that will be seen of him is his eyes.

“I told you I'm fine.” Kiyo tells him. “You're just making me look ridiculous.”

“What about your weak constitution? It needs to be protected from the rain.” Rantaro teases.

“You can't just decide to use my jests as fact when it's convenient to you.”

“Ha, that's fair. But bear with it for now, okay? Even if it's just to humor me. I'd feel bad if you got sick.”

“I'm more concerned about the state of our clothing.” Kiyo replies, though the words seem to placate him for the time being.

“We’ll wash our clothes tonight,” Rantaro says, “Just focus on getting down safely, okay? That's my top priority.”

This time, he doesn’t miss the look Kiyo gives him — soft, achingly gentle, like Rantaro’s the only thing he sees — but he says nothing of it.

* * *

The coin laundry in the hotel is a small unit, about the size of their hotel room itself. The walls are lined with machines, about six in total on each side, with one wall holding the vending machine with appropriate cleaning products inside for purchase.

Well-accustomed to this lifestyle, Kiyo wastes no time on extracting the detergent and fabric softener from the vending machine, swiping his hotel key on the machine to add the bill to their tab.

(Rantaro’s going to pay for it, he’s already decided. He and Kiyo like to argue over who pays _all_ the time, but the reality is that Rantaro would spoil him as much as he could feasibly allow, even if it’s to pay for things like laundry.)

Travelling doesn’t leave them with that much laundry so they just throw it all in together, and Kiyo perches on one of the stools to watch the machine spin.

“Doesn’t that make you dizzy?” Rantaro asks.

“Not particularly,” he replies. “It’s somewhat hypnotizing, I think.”

“Haha,” Rantaro leans against the patch of wall beside him. “Hypnotizing washing machine! Maybe that’s how the clothes get washed. Hypnosis.”

“You seem to enjoy abstract concepts, Rantaro,” Kiyo observes with a soft chuckle. “It makes our conversations very interesting, if a little nonsensical.”

“I can talk about more realistic things, if you want.”

“That isn’t necessary.” Kiyo replies, and then, far too sincerely without being prompted, says, “I like it when you talk about anything. You know, you are so very fascinating to me… it seems that I can never tire of you. You are a new experience, each and every day.”

Rantaro feels his face flush, because honestly, how is he supposed to react to that? Sometimes Kiyo just says things without thinking about how they could be interpreted and sometimes it’s just— just embarrassing.

“Ha,” he says, “Well, the world is full of cool experiences, yeah? You can’t get bored if you’re always trying new things.”

“That is true.” Kiyo nods, prying his phone from his pocket and fiddling with it, avoiding Rantaro’s gaze. “I wonder if you even notice it… but you are so odd, Rantaro.”

“Me?” He gasps, “What’s odd about _me_?”

Kiyo shakes his head. “Too many things to list.”

“Hey! Now you’re just being mean!”

He can see Kiyo’s shoulders shaking with silent laughter as he presses his phone delicately to his face, as if to shield the rest of his expression from view. Rantaro doesn’t think he has it in him to even want to pretend to be mad at him this time.

“Don’t tell the group chat I’m weird,” Rantaro settles with saying. “That’s our secret.”

“I’m quite certain everyone already thinks that,” Kiyo remarks, still hiding, still with the tremor of laughter in his voice.

“My reputation is ruined.”

“Ah, my apologies,” he amends, “I will tell them all what a wonderful person you are, to make up for it. I have many stories of your heroism and good graces to share.”

“Flatterer.”

“Kehehe, I will not deny it.”

Rantaro crosses his arms, doing his best not to look like he found Kiyo stupidly endearing, because that would not help him at all. Sometimes, dealing with his best friend meant stamping down all the thoughts that made him think that maybe there could be more to that. “Looking at anything in particular?”

“A picture from earlier. I've made it my background,” he replies, turning the phone in his hands. They’ve taken a lot of pictures that day, and earlier could mean anything, but Rantaro has a feeling he knows which one he’s talking about.

“Your background, huh?” He smiles easily. “Is it a cute one at least?”

“... I would say so, yes.” Kiyo is silent for a second, contemplative, before continuing, “You know when you, ah, kissed me on the cheek?”

(Oh, okay, so they're talking about that. Rantaro takes a breath. They don't usually talk about things like that.)

“Haha, yeah, I was there.”

“You were– well, _yes_ , of course you were there, but that’s not…” He narrows his eyes. “The point. In any case, Rantaro, I have a question for you.”

That makes Rantaro a little nervous.

Maybe he could whip out that European backstory now. He knows a sizeable amount of French. He also doesn't remember if he's ever actually told Kiyo that he's Japanese, but hey, with a name like Rantaro Amami, it's going to make Monsieur Amami a very difficult persona to make up on the spot. Rantaro's good at improvising. Maybe he'll be German, instead. He's been to Germany before.

(And what if Kiyo finds him out? He wouldn’t put it past him.

What if Kiyo also knows he doesn’t want to let him go in two weeks, doesn’t want to stick to this convenience schedule when they could be spending their time together? When he wants to be spending their time together?

Would that be selfish? He doesn’t know.)

“Oh?” is the best that Rantaro can do, because he's just come to realize that lying to his best friend about his nationality would help absolutely no-one. “Lay it on me.”

“If I kissed you,” he leaves no room for Rantaro's favorite tactic, the 'accidental' misunderstanding, as he presses his fingers to his masked mouth and blows him a completely neutral kiss, “how would you react?”

This time he’s the one caught off guard.

“Uh, I mean, kiss you back?” Rantaro shrugs, and he almost surprises himself by how calmly he answers the question. Honestly, it’s because it’s Kiyo asking, so it doesn’t have to _mean_ anything. That’s the way he sees it, anyway. “I don’t know why you would, but I wouldn’t object.”

“Truthfully?”

“Yeah,” Rantaro says. It is the truth. “For real, I’d be fine with that.”

“You mean that?”

“ _Yes_ , Kiyo,” he laughs. “I would be absolutely, completely fine with– _mmph_!”

Kiyo moves swiftly, bridging the gap between them without another word – and kisses him.

Now, Rantaro doesn’t know what short-circuiting feels like, but he thinks he might have a good idea. His hand cards through Kiyo’s hair as he pulls him closer and kisses him back and keeps doing it because no, he doesn’t have a single clue what just happened, but he’s not gonna let this chance pass him by.

(And he likes Kiyo. He really likes Kiyo. He can barely admit that because that’s what Rantaro does with his feelings. He hides them. Even from himself.)

Kiyo smiles, soft as they part. Rantaro doesn’t see him maskless often, so he takes it in, still stunned, and kinda wishing he was half as smooth as people seemed to think he was. All he can think of doing is too _cheesy_ – calling him beautiful (Kiyo would laugh), asking for a photo (that’s just weird), asking for an autograph (not sure where that one came from) or just grabbing him and kissing him again (way too forward, not happening).

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time, you know.” Kiyo utters, and it’s with that embarrassing sincerity that has Rantaro blushing to the tips of his ears and looking away. His hand meets the back of the neck. Dammit.

“Really?”

“You didn’t notice?” Kiyo slips the mask back on and uses his hand to obscure the chuckle falling free as Rantaro very pointedly decides to stare at the wall behind him. “My, my, was I being that subtle about it?”

“No, it just hadn’t crossed my mind,” Rantaro replies almost automatically. He resists the urge to bring his fingers to his lips. That kiss had all but knocked every coherent thought out of his not very coherent brain. His fingers decide to play with his bracelet instead, insistent on something to do. “So… uh. You. Wanted to kiss me?”

“Yes, Rantaro.” He says patiently, with just a little bit of allure. Kiyo sometimes does this thing with his voice - actually he does it quite a bit, if Rantaro thinks about it - where it goes like, fluid and sweeter and almost melodic. Is that a thing? Rantaro is going to say that's a thing. “I’m certain that is quite clear now. Or should I show you again, one more time, to be sure?”

Rantaro can’t hide the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. His bracelet snaps against his wrist. “Oh, come on. That’s not fair.”

“Hmm? What isn’t fair?”

“You can’t just decide you’re going to be smooth all of a sudden,” he tells him, raising his hands as if he's balancing his sentences out in front of him. “Besides, you’re going away again soon.”

“About that.” Kiyo says slowly, cupping his cheek. It’s a gesture that makes him look both surprised and thoughtful at the same time. “I would… well, be delighted if you could accompany me in my sightseeing in Québec. Of course, that’s only if you can make time for–”

Rantaro doesn’t mean to interrupt, he really doesn’t, but his words kind of come out on their own. “Oh, haha, I mean, I wouldn’t want to intrude…”

“Naturally, that is a thought native only to you. I enjoy your presence and tell you this often,” Kiyo sweeps over his dismissal, seeming to find that he has a point to rebut it with regardless of what the rest of Rantaro's weak floundering was going to entail, and this is partially the reason why Rantaro hardly ever wins their debates. “I would love for you to accompany me in any scenario, that should go without saying.”

“I just don’t want to get in your way, y’know?”

“I honestly cannot believe you haven’t realized this, seeing as I am always willing to meet up with you no matter where we are, but being with you is the opposite of getting in my way.”

“If you wanted to be alone, I wouldn’t get offended or anything.”

“Rantaro,” Kiyo seems to smile. Seems to understand, even though Rantaro doesn't himself understand. “I think we are having two separate conversations. Slow down.”

Rantaro stops for a moment. Takes in the information he’s been presented with. Snaps his bracelet against his wrist again.

“You want to travel with me?” He asks.

“Among other things.”

Rantaro blinks. Kiyo has said that before, but he never really knows what he means by that. “Like what?”

“My goodness,” Kiyo says, and he looks half-exasperated half-fond. “Rantaro, I want to be with you wherever and however you’ll allow me. I like you. Platonically, romantically, and in different levels of like and love, _agape, eros, philia, ludus. Pragma_ , if that wouldn’t send you running into the next continent.”

“Did you just list some of the Ancient Greek types of love at me?”

“On a whim,” Kiyo replies, a little more stiffly. It's cute the way he hunches up, but Rantaro wants him to relax so he reaches out and guides his shoulders back down. Pink dusts the curve of his cheekbones that peek above the mask. “Ah- well, I’d banked on the chance that you wouldn’t know what they meant, or that you would look it up later when I was not in the room.”

“Kiyo, I know stuff.”

That draws a chuckle out of him. “Yes, Rantaro, I would hope that you do know stuff.”

“So you wanna travel with me, among other things. You like me. And you want to kiss me.” Rantaro summarizes, spinning one of his rings around his finger to stabilize his thoughts. “Right?”

Kiyo appears to consider this. “There is a lot more to it than that, but I suppose if we were to break it down to its bare essentials, then yes.”

“Okay, cool, let’s do that, then.”

“Er, alright?” Kiyo seems perplexed. “Is– is that– I’m afraid I’m not sure how to take that response.”

“It means I agree.”

“Rantaro. Elaborate.”

“I like you,” he replies. “ _Agape, eros, philia, ludus. Pragma_ , if that won’t send you running to another continent.”

“You are a thief.” Kiyo accuses without bite. He’s smiling behind the mask. “You stole my confession.”

“Guilty as charged,” he winks knowingly. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“I think I’m going to have to ask you on a date.”

“After Québec?”

“Before or after or during,” Kiyo replies. “I don’t mind.”

“We’ll head out. See the sights,” Rantaro says, grinning widely. “New city, new adventures. What do you think?”

Kiyo nods, and he thinks he can spy the wisp of a smile on his face. “With you, I’d go anywhere in the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> kiyo: Confessing to your best friend in the coin laundry is the Ideal Scenario. I enjoy the smell of Discount Detergent and the outdated Propaganda posters Peeling Off of the Walls. He tastes like Seaweed. There is Lint everywhere. I feel as though I Have been Born by the Dirt. This is what I Believe you call Peak Romance.  
> kokichi: what is wrong with you
> 
> (side note:  
> agape (selfless, unconditional love for all)  
> eros (romantic/sexual passion)  
> philia (affectionate, friendship love)  
> ludus (playful love)  
> pragma (enduring love))


End file.
